Forget Me Not, Sucker
by SimoneSez
Summary: Colonel Decker administers truth serum to Murdock.  Meanwhile, four bounty hunters set the team in their sights.
1. Chapter 1

Colonel Roderick Decker stood patiently in front of his superior officer's desk. It was not a good day. At the moment, he was engaged in something he had always loathed – asking permission.

But the United States Army was a funny thing. A very _bureaucratic _funny thing. Requests were channeled through countless offices, corridors. Hell, they'd probably consulted the Pentagon janitors on Iranscam before Colonel North ever took the stand. But that was the way it was done. And Decker was, above all, a military man.

General McFarland nodded at the colonel, indicating he should proceed. Decker squared his shoulders. "The bottom line, sir, is that in all the time we've been tracking Smith, Peck and Baracus, we've been neglecting what I believe to be a vital link in their chain of successes."

McFarland looked bored. Decker couldn't tell if it was actual boredom or the façade many upper echelons put on when they knew they were about to be asked for something. "Get to the point, will you Decker?"

"I believe they have been assisted by a fourth party, sir." This was Decker's big moment, and he rose to it. "With whose help they have been able to slip through our grasp time and time again."

"And who might that be?"

"General, I believe Captain H. M. Murdock knows a great deal more about the A-Team than he is willing to admit."

McFarland ceased to look bored and began looking amused. "You know as well as I do that Captain Murdock is mentally unstable. He'd be about as much use to Hannibal Smith as…"

"I disagree, General. I'm convinced Captain Murdock is very much aware of his role in Smith's plans. He was the Team's pilot in 'Nam. And he flew them to the bank job in Hanoi."

"That was _years_ ago. Murdock's been locked up in the V.A. Hospital's nut hatch for as long as I've been behind this desk. On what do you base your allegations?"

Decker continued with calm reserve. "Gut feeling, sir. I know Murdock is lying."

"And if he's been lying for ten years, what do you suggest will make him tell the truth now?"

The colonel pulled out his trump. "I request permission to administer sodium pentothal to Captain Murdock and conduct a… thorough… investigation."

McFarland sat back in his chair. He had to admit he was intrigued. Decker showed far more resourcefulness and persistence than any other man assigned to the case of the elusive A-Team over the years. He'd even caught them a couple of times. Yes, he just might be the man. The A-Team had been at large far too long. But there were still some things to consider. "That's contrary to regulations, I'm sure you're aware."

"I am aware of that, sir."

The general studied Decker's face. It was nearly expressionless – a good sign. "You've been after the A-Team for quite some time."

"I want them, sir. I want them _all._"

McFarland nodded thoughtfully. "Very well, Colonel. You may have your thorough interrogation. We'll have Captain Murdock tell us a little story about your A-Team… if he knows one."

Decker felt elated, but dared not let it show. Things were looking up. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure we'll find Murdock's revelations most interesting."

He saluted and turned to leave the office, stopping and turning back when the General spoke again. "I'm counting on you, Decker."

"We'll get them this time, sir."

"I hope so, for your sake." McFarland watched as the colonel left his office. For once, he wasn't sure he had done the right thing. Decker's request was highly unusual. But Decker was a good man, a career man, and if they never took any chances, there was no way they would ever apprehend the A-Team.

The A-Team played by one set of rules – their own. No one knew that better than Decker.

**00o00**

The complex on Pico Boulevard was sandwiched between two new and nearly identical high-rises; it looked like something wedged between bookends. A business meeting was in progress in the living room of Apartment 4-J. The four men in attendance were not average businessmen, however, and the subject of their discussion was no ordinary topic.

The tallest of the men had the floor, and he held the attention of the others with no effort at all. "They're in the bag."

"We're talkin' about the A-Team," one of the others reminded him. "Not a bunch of two-bit bail jumpers. They ain't gonna bag so easy."

The tall man turned on him, fire in his eyes. "You backin' out, Jeff? Now's the time. Tell me now."

Jeff backed up two steps. "Cool out… I didn't say anything about backin' out. All I want to know is…"

"Well, that's good," the original speaker interrupted. "You just keep it that way." He began to speak to the rest of the group collectively. "Just in case the rest of you are as curious as ol' Jeff over there, you just listen to me. We got no chance against this A-Team, you got that? No chance at all."

The other three bounty hunters cast uncertain glances in his direction, but all were careful not to make it obvious that they doubted him. The general consensus was that Hugh Perry was insane. Not one man in the room disputed that. He was known for his talent, his record, and his volatile temperament. He was not known for compassion.

Nevertheless, the one known as Mike murmured under his breath, "Well, ain't that just brilliant?"

If Perry heard him, he gave no indication. "You heard me right. No chance – in a fair fight. They're commandos; they know how to use every combat weapon ever invented. Head on, we're dead before we start. But we're gonna get their guard down, and then we got the element of surprise on our side. Then we got a shot."

Arnie had worked with Perry before, and had the scars to prove it. "I say we're out of our league. We're just bounty hunters. We got no business foolin' around on military turf. The government's been after those guys for years."

"What more do you _need_, man? You got any idea what the price on their heads is? We can retire in style. We can…"

"_If _we can get hold of them. And if the Army ain't been able to do it, I don't see how you think _we _can."

Perry tapped his temple. "It's all up here. The trap is already set. And it won't be long before it's sprung."

His three associates looked at one another. They began to smile, at first slightly, then with increasing confidence. It was contagious, after all. That was why they were in this business to begin with. "We're with you," Mike affirmed. "But Perry…"

"Yeah?"

"This better work."

Perry set his jaw. "Solid." He extended his hand for Mike to take – an archaic gesture, true, but something about it still had the power to make men feel as though everything would work out just fine.

"What's the first move?" Jeff asked.

"Ours," Perry replied. The name of this game was Control, and he had it in spades. "When we put out on the street that we're lookin' for the A-Team."

Arnie was visibly shaken. "We let 'em know we're out for 'em?"

"We let 'em know _somebody's _out for 'em."

The prospect was exciting. "Man, we're gonna call out the A-Team."

Perry nodded with extreme confidence. "And when they answer, they ain't gonna know what hit 'em."

**00o00**

Decker's staff car cruised through an intersection, Captain Crane at the wheel. That made it easier for the colonel to devote his full concentration to the matter at hand. "Well, Captain, in an hour we'll know everything there is to know about Hannibal Smith."

Although Crane watched the road, it was clear his mind was on the very same thing as Decker's. "You really think Murdock is hiding something, sir?"

"I don't think it. I _know_."

"We've questioned him before." The captain didn't find it difficult to engage Decker in conversation, even to express doubt. The colonel was hard, but fair, and he enjoyed the opportunity to bring others around to his way of thinking.

"And he's always managed to evade our questions with that schizophrenic schtick of his. But not this time. No, Captain, this time we've got him. He can't bluff his way out of this one. He'll be more than willing to tell us everything he knows – including exactly where we can find Hannibal Smith and the others."

"I hope so, sir."

Decker fixed his gaze out the window and stared absently at the scenery. "I didn't get to this rank by letting every Section Eight make a fool out of me."

The Los Angeles Veterans' Hospital was a low stucco building that tried hard to look like just about anything else. It could almost be mistaken for a high school – if one didn't look too closely, or notice the bars on many of the windows. The grounds were immaculately trimmed, and except for an occasional "resident" meandering about in hospital garb with a staff member for escort, there were few signs of life.

Not so inside.

A nurse and an orderly, accompanied by two Army guards, proceeded down the corridor toward Captain H.M. Murdock's room. The nurse did her best to appear inconvenienced; there had been many special requests in the past involving Murdock, and they generally also involved the disruption of the entire wing. Not the way she would run the ward if she had the say-so. But this was the Army, and things had to be done by the book. It wouldn't be the Army otherwise.

She produced a key and fit it into the lock of Murdock's room. "Captain Murdock is extremely unpredictable."

The guards regarded her with smug smiles. "If I see anything I haven't seen before, lady, I'll shoot it," the corporal replied.

The nurse had no humor left in her at all. She turned the key in the lock and entered the room, followed by an orderly and the Army's answer to Heckle and Jeckle.

Murdock lay on the bed, reading a Captain Marvel comic book. His rumpled khakis were well worn; the t-shirt with the phony college logo reading 'Psychotic State' was similarly tired, but scrupulously clean. He paid no attention whatsoever when the people entered, and appeared totally engrossed in his comic. The nurse stepped forward with a degree of caution. "Captain Murdock?"

He didn't look up. His visitors noticed that the comic book was upside down.

"Captain Murdock?" the woman repeated, slightly louder.

He looked up at last, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "Can't a man get any privacy around here? I thought these were first-class accommodations. Did you see a sign out there that said I wanted maid service?"

She was at the end of what little patience she had brought in with her. "Now, Murdock, these gentlemen are here to take you for a little walk."

He stuck out his lower lip like a petulant child. "And I don't wanta go for no walks, neither."

"Let's try and be a little more cooperative, shall we?" She was aware that the guards were amused by her inability to control the situation with the brusqueness she had used on them; she had to rectify that. "We can finish our book later. Right now, we're going for a walk with these nice men, and we're going to go visit somebody."

"And they think _I'm _bonkers… lady, you got your personal pronouns all mixed up, you know that? You some kinda multiple personality or somethin'?"

She held out her hand for the comic book, but he clutched it protectively and stuffed it underneath his pillow. Then he saluted her crisply and got to his feet. He preceded nurse, orderly, and guards out of his room and into the corridor.

The four professionals walked with purpose and dignity, but Murdock skipped along beside them, as if he were aware how much it annoyed them. "Where we goin', huh? When we gonna get there?"

One of the guards leaned toward the other and spoke in low tones. "He'll find out – and he won't be skippin' outta _there_, that's for sure."

Colonel Dicker and Captain Crane waited by the window, looking out on the courtyard as Murdock and his entourage entered the treatment room. Murdock took the first available chair and immediately put his feet up on the desk, his scruffy high-tops right next to the colonel's hat.

Decker's lips curled upward in a cold smile. "Hello, Captain Murdock."

Murdock's face lit up in recognition, and he gave a cheery wave. "Well, hey there, Colonel. Fancy meetin' you here. You in for a little R&R, are you?" He crossed his legs, crushing Decker's hat as he did so, then adopted an affected British accent. "The forensic ward is lovely this time of year."

Decker's smile suggested a hint of loathing, coupled with knowing superiority over his unsuspecting prey. "Actually, son, we came to see you."

Murdock dropped the Sherlock Holms bit and returned to his usual spirited tone. "Li'l ol' me?"

The colonel crossed to his chair and looked him square in the eye. This was made no easier by the fact that Murdock persisted in batting his eyelashes. "Captain, I've had my eye on you for a very long time."

Murdock almost blushed. "Why… why Colonel… I had no idea…"

"That's right. You see, Captain, I know you've been lying to me."

Decker was suddenly grabbed by the lapels; Captain Crane and the orderly started forward to free him, but he motioned them back. "Ya gotta believe me, Louie," Murdock said in his best Cagney imitation. "The dough was in the fishbowl… underneath the… castle…"

The colonel met his eyes with steely determination. "Murdock, you're going to tell me everything you know about Hannibal Smith and the A-Team."

Murdock released Decker and sat back in his chair. "I don't know nothin' about no A-Team. Ain't you asked me about them before?"

"That's right. But this time, I'm going to hear the answer I came to get."

"I don't know nothin' about 'em, Colonel. Never did."

Decker crossed the room and opened the door. An Army medic in a lab coat entered with a cart, wheeled it to Murdock's side, and took a syringe from a tray. Murdock stared at it with the first real concern he'd shown since being brought in.

"I think you do," Decker told him calmly. He lifted a labeled vial from the tray and held it in front of Murdock's face. "Do you know what this is, Captain?"

Murdock swallowed hard. His bravado was failing fast, going to a place where he knew he would have a hard time locating it later. "It's a little bitty glass thing…" he managed to say.

"This little glass thing is the key to unlocking all the secrets you've got hidden in the back of your mind. This is called sodium pentothal." The words tasted good. "And by the time it's through with you, I'll know everything I've been trying to find out all these long years."

"No thanks… I already had dessert…"

Decker handed the vial to the medic and stepped aside. "Go ahead."

Murdock passed the city limits of Panic and got on the expressway to downtown. He tried to pull away from the hands that took hold of him from all sides, but in spite of his struggles, the orderly rolled up his sleeve, and the medic readied the injection. The nurse tightened a band around his upper arm and found the vein. "You can't do this to me! This is against the Geneva Convention! I'm gonna sic F.D.R. on you… and ol' Winnie Churchill, too!"

"Now, just relax, Captain," the medic said. "Don't make it any harder than it has to be."

"How do you like it when people stick needles in _you_?" He turned away when the medic administered the shot, flinching slightly at the momentary pain. The guards relaxed their hold on him, and he slouched in his chair, shaking his head to try and keep it clear. "No… _oh_, no…" He was slipping; things were already getting fuzzy around the edges.

Decker pulled up a chair, and Crane moved closer. Time for the kill. "Now, Captain," the colonel purred, "we'll discuss the A-Team."

"I don't know nothin' about no A-Team," Murdock insisted. "Say, any of you fellas know how that last Captain Marvel comic came out? I was gonna finish it later but… I really can't… wait…"

He was desperately trying to remain as incoherent as possible. He had a pretty good idea what the drug was capable of, and he knew his only hope was setting up the pins and moving them all before Decker could knock them over. He didn't trust himself anymore… and that was scary.

"Let's talk about _colonels_, Murdock," Decker suggested. "Colonel Hannibal Smith."

"Hannibal…" Murdock heard himself say, although he hadn't intended to. He shook his head vehemently. "I didn't say anything…" More words came out of his mouth without his permission. "_Damn_…"

"Where is the A-Team, Murdock?"

The melody of a 1950's song began floating in the roller-coaster ride Murdock had formerly called his mind. "A… I'll always love you…" he sang faintly.

"He's resisting," the medic said.

"I didn't expect him to spill it all in the first breath," Decker retorted. "He's got will-power, we know that. What kind of dose did you give him?"

"Adequate, sir. Just give it a few minutes to take effect."

The colonel sat back in his chair and watched. Murdock concentrated as hard as he could, sitting with his eyes tightly closed and his fingers clutching the arms of his chair, fighting the drug's influence. What a great song that had been… who had recorded that one, anyway? "B… because my heart is true…" He couldn't remember what "C" was. He was sure he had known it just a minute ago. "B… B.A…."


	2. Chapter 2

The Assistant Director had called a lunch break, and the dozens of people connected with the production of _Revenge of the Son of the Aquamaniac _went off in as many different directions. John "Hannibal" Smith, in the title role and a cumbersome latex lizard suit of which he was quite proud, sat down to have his lunch relayed to him by Templeton Peck. He removed his lizard headpiece, but had a problem with the hands; his own were encased in large green gloves with three-inch talons, making them difficult to maneuver.

The two men sat in the side door of a large black van, along with B.A. Baracus. While 'Faceman' Peck applied ketchup to the French fries, Smith read from a piece of paper that had been stuck to one of his talons like an invoice on a spike. "And then we get back to L.A.," he finished. "Four days, tops."

Peck looked up from the fast food. "With a down payment of how much?"

"I've always hated the word 'mercenary', Face," Smith replied. "But I guess it's a matter of personal taste."

"Look, Hannibal, I'm all for this business of truth, justice and the American way, but if you'll remember, Superman also had a steady day job."

Baracus joined the conversation. "What the Faceman means is that his pickin's been kinda slim lately."

Peck bristled. "B.A., I'll have you know that I've got a scam running hot right now in West Covina; one that'll put me on top for…"

"Cool it, you guys, will you?" Smith knew his cohorts well enough to know that Peck's scams were a great source of pride to the handsome young con man, and anyone who cast aspersions on them was asking for trouble. Anyone, that is, except B.A. Baracus, who could easily make all the disparaging remarks his heart desired. Anybody B.A.'s size could pretty much do like the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the old joke: anything he wanted.

Rather than referee the argument, Smith called for order. As senior officer and the object of much respect, he had it immediately. "Look, do we take this one or don't we? That's what we have to decide here, not whether or not Face's latest flame can be soaked for another two weeks." He flicked the paper with a scaly-gloved hand. "What do we think?"

"I'm still waiting to hear what they've coughed up for a deposit," Peck said.

"And Malaguay, Hannibal," B.A. put in. "That better not mean flyin'."

Smith tackled the monetary concern first. "Mr. Perry told Mr. Lee that his firm could raise fifty percent now, and fifty percent after we've retrieved the stolen shipments."

Peck nodded. "And did Mr. Lee tell Mr. Perry that the A-Team would be happy to spot his firm for the additional costs until said goods were recovered? Mr. Lee has been inhaling too much spray starch."

"Come on, Face…"

"No, don't give me that 'come on, Face' routine. Face doesn't have a steady gig like the Aqualunatic here; Face has to…"

"Aqua_maniac._"

"Whatever. Face has to make it on whatever we make on these assignments. And let me tell you something, Mr. Aqua_maniac_, lately we've been working more for charity than for our own survival."

Smith nodded. He had a point. "I'll admit the one where those two retirees needed us to get their pensions out of the hands of the racketeers didn't exactly pay off too well, but…"

"How 'bout he one where the family hired us to save their diner from the gangsters who wanted to level it and build a freeway ramp?" B.A. added.

"It paid off in cheeseburgers," Face reminded him.

"And," Smith continued, "maybe the time we saved those four girl singers from working for that crooked promoter…"

"Well, I didn't mind that one so much."

"I thought not. So what's the verdict on this Mr. Perry?"

Peck shrugged. "I hate to say it, but… we do need the money."

"Okay, then, we get ready for a trip to Malaguay. B.A., you and Face can start by swinging by the V.A. Hospital for Murdock."

Baracus' expression darkened. "How many times I gotta tell you, man? I _ain't _flyin' with that crazy fool Murdock!"

"Just go and get him. We'll find some use for him."

Baracus scowled. "Not unless the sucker can paddle a boat."

**00o00**

"Sixteen choruses of 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat'!"

Decker's disgusted voice was the only sound in the otherwise silent treatment room. He stood in one corner of the room, conversing quietly with Crane and the medic. The nurse sat several feet away, checking Murdock's pulse. Murdock's eyes were closed, and he was quiet, his head nodded forward, and he appeared to be dozing.

"I just don't understand it, Colonel," the medic said.

"I understand perfectly. He's blocking."

"Excuse me, sir," Crane said. "But is it possible that Murdock really doesn't know?"

"What _doesn't_ he know? What _hasn't_ he told us? We've heard everything from the Gettysburg Address to the theme song from 'Rawhide'. He's blocking, Captain. Bet on it."

"What now, sir?"

Decker glanced at Murdock, then turned to the two guards. "Take him back to his room," he ordered. "He's too much for me right now."

The nurse touched Murdock's shoulder and spoke directly into his ear. "Captain Murdock? Captain Murdock…" His eyes opened slowly, and he looked up at her. "Come on now, Murdock. We're going back to our room."

His voice was faint, and it seemed all he could do to get his lips to form words. "What…?"

"All right, that's enough. Come with me." She took his arm to help him to his feet, but he pulled away and stared at her with suspicion.

"What are you talking about?"

"We'll be talking about a court martial in about five seconds, Captain," Decker told him. "You heard the nurse."

Murdock looked at the colonel and blinked repeatedly as if to clear his vision. "Who're you?"

Decker was not amused. "Nice try, Captain. Don't play games with me."

Murdock sat bolt upright in his chair. His eyes reflected real confusion, not the head trip he was continuously trying to inflict on those around him for personal amusement. "Where am I, anyway?" he demanded.

The colonel had had enough, and then some. "Murdock…"

The medic cut him off, and went to his patient. "Just a moment, Colonel, please." He examined Murdock's pupils, then checked his vital signs for stability. Decker watched impatiently as he motioned to the nurse. "Take the captain back to his room. I'll be in to see him in a little while."

She took Murdock's arm again, and he regarded her with the utmost confusion. "Where am I, lady? What's goin' on here?"

"Everything's just fine," she assured him, unsure herself of just what was happening. This was very unlike Murdock; generally he was lots of fun, and whenever he set off on one of his side-trips into the Twilight Zone, he remained in good humor. She couldn't help thinking that this wasn't Murdock. Not really.

She managed to get him to his feet. He looked around with something akin to panic on his face. When he finally noticed the armed guards, he exhibited a distinct preference for the nurse, and allowed her to lead him outside. The guards followed.

Decker waited until they were gone, then looked to the medic for an explanation. The man was a full step ahead of him. "We may have a real problem here, Colonel. I've seen this reaction before."

"Spell it out for me, then. I haven't had the benefit of medical school."

The medic took a deep breath. "His emotional state before the administration of the pentothal was near panic. It's quite possible that the drug's effects combined with that panic to cause a temporary memory lapse. Purely psychological. In layman's terms, a black-out."

The colonel resisted the impulse to display his frustration in a physical way. "What do you suggest?"

"The situation should resolve itself."

"How long?"

"There's really nothing I can do about it, Colonel. This is a fairly common reaction to intense questioning, particularly among the mentally unstable."

"He'll be all right, then?" Not his first question, but at least he'd gotten around to it eventually. Murdock was potentially too valuable to risk his well-being.

"Give him time," the medic replied.

Decker's teeth clamped together. The frustration was back. "I could have had them…"

"Whatever he might have known about the A-Team, Colonel, he certainly doesn't know it now."

"He was so desperate to protect them that he managed to block out any memory of them at all?"

"If he ever knew anything," the medic reminded him.

"_If_…"

Decker and Crane exchanged a glance. It was one of those 'they did it to us again' looks, one of the ones they shared too damned often. It had to be somebody's fault, and Murdock was the obvious scapegoat this time.

**00o00**

Perry and Mike strolled along the nearly deserted marina with what they hoped was a casual air. The two of them would make the initial contact; four would arouse unwanted suspicion. The instructions were simple. Mr. Lee had told them to go to the pier and walk. They were into their third hour, and beginning to get a little antsy.

Mike kept looking around expectantly. "I don't see any sign of 'em."

"What do you want them to do? Walk right up to us and say 'Hi there, guys, we're the A-Team'? Use your head, Mike. They ain't stupid."

There was nothing to do but keep walking, and hope nothing had gone wrong, hope they hadn't been found out in the investigation Perry was sure Hannibal Smith had instigated. It was a small chance, but a possibility. He had spent months planning this operation, and had covered his own tracks to the point where he himself would have had trouble retracing his steps. He was as sure as he could be that they were in the clear. But…

"Which berth?"

"The Chinese guy said _they _would find _us._"

They were closer to the A-Team than they knew: on the deck of one of the larger boats moored to the dock, Hannibal Smith had them in his sights. He twisted the knob on his binoculars until the men were in crystal-clear focus. Then he raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth and spoke softly. "Okay, I've made visual."

Peck's voice came back to him with a tinny echo. "I read you, Hannibal."

Smith waited a few more moments. Better safe than sorry. In this line of work, if you weren't safe, you were usually _more _than sorry. Sometimes, you were dead. "They're alone. All right, I'm going to contact them."

He set the radio down and left it with the binoculars on the deck of the borrowed boat. Part of Peck's latest scam. If the yacht was any indication of the rest of the deal, the Faceman had made out like the bandit that he was on this one.

He made his way to the rope ladder that led to dock level, coming up onto the pier just ahead of Perry and Mike. "You look a little lost, gentlemen," he began jovially. "Anything I might be able to help you with?"

Perry shook his head. "No, thanks, pal. We got no problems."

"I thought you wanted to hire the A-Team."

"You're…"

"I'm Hannibal Smith. What can we do for you?"

Perry took a step forward. "We got your down payment right here." It was hard to maintain his cool; he could feel the adrenalin in his veins. He indicated the bundle under one arm.

Smith nodded. "That's just fine, gentlemen. Why don't you come on down, and we'll discuss your situation in detail." He gestured for them to follow him, then started back down the ladder.

Mike's strong arm stopped Perry. "Why don't we just get Smith now, and never mind the rest?"

"No way, man. I want 'em all." He'd put too much work into it. Far too much. There was no way he was going to settle for just one man, even if it _was _the ringleader. It was all or nothing. And so far, everything was going exactly as planned.

He shoved Mike toward the rope ladder, following him closely. This sudden desire to get ideas worried him. He would have to keep an eye on his partner.

The three men met on the deck of the yacht. Smith summed up. "Mr. Lee tells me you lost some merchandise to smugglers in Malaguay, and you'd like me and my associates to get it back for you."

"That's right."

"What kind of merchandise are we talking about?"

"My company deals primarily in the exportation of tobacco products." Perry reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed a cellophane-wrapped packet of three cigars; he passed the package to Smith. "One of our biggest sellers."

Smith inspected the package briefly, and nodded in agreement. "I can understand why. Very nice."

He handed it back, but Perry motioned to him to keep it. "Please; with my compliments."

"Thank you." Smith pocketed the cigars. "Now, if you'll forgive me for getting down to brass tacks… the money?"

Perry passed him the bag, and he took a cursory look at the contents. He would need Face to make an accurate estimate, within twenty dollars or so, but from what he could see, it looked very much like about half of the stated fee, the agreed-upon down payment. With luck, it would cover the out-of-pocket expenses the trip would entail. One of which, as yet unknown to B.A. Baracus, would be airplane fuel.

"Well, everything seems to be in order," Smith said. "We'll get things rolling, and contact you in a few days when we're ready to make our move."

"That's it?" Mike asked.

"That's it… unless there's anything you didn't mention to Mr. Lee that you'd like to tell me now."

"We told him everything, Mr. Smith," Perry assured him.

"Fine. We'll be in touch."

**00o00**

Decker's office was about as personalized as his uniform, and that was the way he liked it. Regulation desk, regulation chair, regulation telephone. He picked up the phone and dialed. "General McFarland, please," he said when he got the connection. "Colonel Decker calling."

Crane shifted nervously. One sideways glare from his commanding officer froze him at attention.

"Yes, this is Decker," the colonel said into the phone when the general himself came on the line. "No, sir, it did not go as well as we had hoped." He glanced up to make sure Crane was still holding at attention. "As I understand it, sir…" This was the hard part. "Captain Murdock experienced a panic reaction to the drug, and, well sir, he had a complete black-out. He doesn't seem to remember anything at all."

He had thought it would be easier to deal with it all in one breath, but McFarland didn't take it well at all. He held the phone away from his ear. The general's shouts at the other end of the connection were audible even to Crane, who stood a good six feet away from the receiver.

"The doctor assures me that it is only a temporary condition, sir," Decker tried again in a moment. "When Murdock snaps out of it, we'll…"

He moved the receiver still farther from his ear. "Yes, sir. I'll keep you informed, sir. Goodbye, sir."

He replaced the telephone in its cradle and assumed a pensive stance. "One thing I can promise you, Captain," he said, choosing his words with the greatest of care. "As long as Murdock remains in this condition, he'll be of as little use to Hannibal Smith as he is to us."


	3. Chapter 3

That night found the V.A. hospital pretty well locked down… with the exception of Murdock. He had been pacing the floor of his room ever since the nurse and the two guards had returned him to it that afternoon. And as many times as he had been around the room and examined it and everything in it with great care, he was still at a loss to explain what he was doing there. He was certain it was a mental hospital… and it stood to reason that if he didn't know who he was or why he was there, it was probably where he belonged. He'd been told repeatedly that everything would be all right, but somehow he doubted it. It was too easy to say, and too difficult to believe.

He was _not _okay. That was the one thing he was sure of.

He sat down on the bed and leaned one elbow on the pillow. Something under it made a crackling noise, and he started, then reached underneath and pulled out a Captain Marvel comic book. He scanned the pages distractedly, then tossed it aside and reclined on the bed.

Outside, Face and B.A. crept through the bushes bordering the building, stopping from time to time to scout the area, trying to stay out of range of the sodium arc lights that made the place almost as bright as midafternoon. They were strictly against midnight strolls around this place. Too bad… because one was planned for tonight.

The lights glared off the gold chains B.A. wore, glinting like sunlight off a mirror; Face winced, and forced himself to say nothing. Riling the big man could be as dangerous as getting caught by the MP's.

They ran between two cars in the parking lot, B.A. in the lead, Face behind as usual. When the con man finally caught up, he was out of breath and showing it. "I must be getting old," he said, puffing. "This isn't as easy as it used to be."

The big mercenary glared at him. "Shut up, man, and follow me. One fool at a time."

Retrieving Murdock was not one of B.A.'s favorite things. Usually, it meant Hannibal was about to try and pull another fast one on him, knocking him out and putting him on an airplane. If anyone but Hannibal Smith tried that, he'd put the guy out of his misery _fast. _Murdock equaled flying, and B.A. hated to fly.

That was putting it mildly. He would _not _fly, not unless he was unconscious, and Smith seemed to take an almost perverse pleasure in thinking up ways to accomplish that. B.A. turned his attention to the fuse box on the side of the building. _Ain't flyin', Hannibal, _ran through his mind yet again.

A noise from outside his window made Murdock open his eyes and look around. It sounded like someone was trying to get _in_, and that made no sense. Nobody broke _into _mental hospitals. You were supposed to break _out. _Then he heard the sound again, and suddenly the window slid open.

Peck stuck his head in, then struggled the rest of the way inside. He turned and whispered into the darkness. "Nice work, B.A. Not a peep out of the alarm."

A reply came from outside. "Hurry and get goin'. We ain't got all night!"

The con man gave him a casual wave, then looked around the room. Murdock was still on the bed, unmoving. Peck motioned him to his feet. "Okay, Murdock, time to go bye-bye. Come on."

Murdock stared wordlessly, too surprised to think of anything to say in return.

"Ah, come on…" Peck groaned. "I had a hard enough time scaling that wall like some kind of human fly. Don't give me the act of the week now. Save the new personality for later, when I can really appreciate it." Murdock still said nothing. Face gave him a visual once-over, trying to ascertain what the new personality was supposed to be. Usually Murdock was happy to give a clue right off the bat. "You know, I might actually get to enjoy this one," he said after a moment.

B.A.'s harsh growl, hardly capable of being called a whisper, reached their ears from the bushes below. "Hey, Face, what you doin'? Get down here, and bring that crazy fool with you!"

Peck cringed at the volume of his companion's voice. They really _were _supposed to be quiet… or didn't he remember that part? When Murdock still didn't make a move toward the window, he reached to grab his arm.

Murdock pulled back sharply. "Wait just a minute! I…"

"Not now, Murdock, please! Come on, they'll be in here any minute to do a bed check. As soon as they realize the alarm's out, they'll…"

"Do you always come in the window like that?"

"No, sometimes I swing _through _the window like Johnny Weissmuller! What do you expect us to do, come right on in the front door? What do you think this is, the Beverly Hilton? Come _on_!"

Murdock was frantically trying to find the words to phrase his next question when, over Face's shoulder, he saw B.A. Baracus appear in the window. He shrank back. "My God, what's _that_?"

"Come on, sucker, get a move on!" Baracus growled. "Hannibal's waitin' for us!"

Peck turned to him in frustration. "I don't know what his game is this time, but it's already playing kind of long."

Murdock looked at him vacantly. "Do I _know _you?"

"Cute, Murdock, real different. But we're wasting time, here. Tell us all about it in the van, okay?"

"Where are we going?"

Baracus had had enough. "Okay, I heard enough of this crazy rap. Sucker's makin' this trip in the glove compartment!"

Murdock dove behind Peck, who suddenly was the best thing he'd seen in ages, infinitely preferable to the huge, imposing character who had made nothing but threats of physical violence since his appearance. Did he _know_ these men? Even _that _one? What hospital had _they _escaped from? And where in the world were they planning to take him?

Peck cast a reproachful glance at B.A. and took a step back himself. For insurance. The sergeant looked more than a little miffed, and giving him a wide berth was the best idea. "B.A., let's just make our break, and talk about this later, all right? They'll have half a dozen MPs down here before you can say 'shut up, fool'."

He gestured toward the window, and the big man reluctantly climbed back out onto the ledge. Peck then made a sweeping gesture for Murdock to do likewise. "After you, Mr. Murdock. Mr. Peck here. We'll conduct our formal introductions in the van, if you don't mind."

There was nothing else for him to do, Murdock reasoned. If he continued to resist, there was a good possibility he would be ripped to shreds. If he did as he was told, there was a chance something more palatable would come of it. He hesitated a moment longer, then preceded Peck to the window and put one leg over the sill. He turned back just once.

"I don't remember you," he insisted, scanning the other man's features for a clue, just a flicker of recognition. There was none.

Peck rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wish I didn't remember _you._" He gave Murdock a slight push to hasten his escape, then climbed out the window himself and closed it behind him. He hastily screwed the wire mesh screen back into place.

**00o00**

"Just what _do _you remember, for sure?"

Smith was in no mood for games, and it had taken a very short time to ascertain that Murdock wasn't playing Mental Monopoly with them this time. The four members of the A-Team were gathered around a large drafting table with a map of Malaguay spread across it.

More accurately, Murdock stood by himself, and the other three men stood together and watched him. It was a most uneasy watch.

Murdock gave the question some thought. "I remember waking up, and there were some people there in the room."

"Which people?"

"A doctor, a nurse, a couple of guys in uniforms…"

Smith turned to Peck and Baracus. "Decker."

"Decker?" Face echoed.

Hannibal looked once more at Murdock. "Did they ask you any questions? Interrogate you?"

He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't remember."

Face exhaled loudly. "Great!"

B.A. remained unconvinced. "Hey, Hannibal, what makes you think this sucker ain't playin' another one of his crazy brain games?"

"I don't think so, B.A." He spoke again to Murdock. "And you don't remember anything at all? Nothing's familiar to you?"

"Man, I don't remember _anything_ that came before waking up in that room," Murdock replied. "The doctor told me I'd be okay."

Baracus scowled. "That doctor's got high hopes."

"Come on, Murdock, you couldn't forget B.A., could you?" Face asked hopefully. "Go ahead, B.A., give him one of your famous threats."

Baracus bestowed another one of his patented glares on Murdock, who stared back at him with a completely blank expression. A master of invention and a lover of put-ons, Murdock on a regular day would eventually give himself away with a smirk or a little twinkle in his eye. There was nothing like that happening now.

Smith sighed. "Boy, this really takes the cake, Murdock. Everything else pales in comparison."

"What are we going to do with him?"

"The question, Face, is more like what's _already _been done to him. If Decker was there, it probably means he questioned Murdock. The puzzle is what made him blank out like this. A man doesn't let his entire past slip his mind out of carelessness."

Murdock had listened more or less passively, but it was finally too much for him. "And while you're all looking at me like I'm from outer space, what about _you_? You break me out of a mental hospital in the middle of the night, and drag me out here… what do you _want_ from me?"

"Believe it or not," Hannibal answered, "we wanted you to fly us to Malaguay. But I guess that's probably out of the question now."

When all else failed… and it had been known to… the A-Team could usually depend on Hannibal Smith to come up with one of his famous 'plans' that, no matter how initially implausible, would ultimately turn out to be impossible. After that, it would… nine times out of ten, at least… work perfectly. Smith's plans were strange and wonderful things, and they were all one of a kind. Peck knew that. "So what do we do now?"

Smith pondered for a moment. "I think now would be a good time to get in touch with Mr. Perry and cancel our trip. We can't pull it off with Murdock in this condition."

B.A. bristled. "How many times I gotta tell you I ain't flyin' in no airplane?"

Hannibal lit a cigar and took another long look at Murdock, who was regarding the three mercenaries with extreme disgust… and that made even Smith nervous. Of all the things Murdock had ever tried to pull, this was the only one that had really bothered him.

It was hard to swallow. But Murdock was no longer one of them.

**00o00**

"You think Smith's found us out?"

Perry paced the living room, studying the floor for want of a better subject. Mike's question irked him; he fought to refrain from snapping back a reply. "No. No, absolutely not. We were too careful. There's no way he could know who we are."

"Then why'd they back out?"

"Maybe they figured the job's too tough for 'em."

Perry turned on Arnie. "I'm tellin' you, they had no reason to back out of this assignment. We're talkin' about the A-Team here, not a high-school football squad."

Mike held up the bag in which they had delivered their down payment to Hannibal Smith earlier that same day. They didn't need to count it to be certain it still contained every last cent of that payment. "You got a better explanation?"

Perry ceased his relentless pacing and confronted Mike. "And who says that's gonna stop us?"

Mike pulled at the seam of the bag, his fingers closing on a tiny object concealed inside; he pulled it out and held it up. "Without this?" A tiny seed-sized microtransmitter was pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and he held it out like a talisman. "We gotta _find _them first."

Perry yanked the bag from his hand and flung it across the room. Heavy with cash, it made a solid thump as it rebounded off the wall and landed on the floor. The other three men watched as he crossed the room to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. When he opened the double doors, he revealed sophisticated electronic equipment instead of the expected well-stocked bar. A radar screen in the center of the array glowed bright green; a blip of even brighter green shone a few degrees east of center.

"What the blazes is that?" Jeff asked.

"That, my friend, is the A-Team." Perry flicked a finger at the blip. "Right there." He grinned slyly. "Our insurance policy in that package of cigars just paid off."

Jeff had it then. "A second bug!" He shook his head in admiration. Yes, they just might pull it off in spite of the set-back. "You're the best, man."

"Ain't I been tellin' you jokers that all along?"

"When do we move?"

"Whenever you're ready, my man."

Jeff removed a 45-caliber pistol from its holster and checked it. The other men nodded to one another. They left the apartment together.

It was going to be one hell of a show. And their seats were front row center.

**00o00**

B.A. Baracus' black van was parked outside the large loading doors at the front of the warehouse the A-Team used as a field headquarters. Baracus himself made a routine check of the engine fluid levels while Murdock watched from a few feet away. Smith and Peck stood near the door, conversing in low voices.

"He's not pulling our legs this time." Hannibal indicated Murdock, who watched the sergeant check the oil. B.A. busied himself pretending he wasn't there, as usual.

Face nodded. "I was afraid you were going to say that. And now?"

"Maybe we can jog his memory. Find some key place, a thing… something so familiar to him that he can get a grasp on it, and then we might be able to bring him all the way back."

"And what do you suggest? I mean, if B.A. doesn't ring any bells for him, what will?"

"I flunked my own Rorschach test in the service, Face," the colonel admitted. "This kind of thing isn't exactly my specialty. But in spite of that, I do happen to have a plan."

"Of course."

Smith flashed a smug grin. But before he could add anything else, a late-model sedan careened around the corner and headed directly at them. Taken by surprise, they reacted instinctively when shots were fired from the speeding vehicle.

"Incoming!" Smith called, diving for cover as the others did the same. He and Face ran headlong for the comparative safety of the warehouse, while B.A. grabbed a startled Murdock and pulled him inside the van. The sedan spun around in a rubber-burning turn, and came back for another pass.

Hannibal and Face crouched against the wall underneath one of the windows, ducking as shots ripped through the wooden wall. Smith readied his pistol, and Peck drew his own from the holster beneath his jacket.

"Now, who the hell are _they_?" the con man asked.

The colonel snapped a clip into his automatic. "Save the questions, Face. They didn't sign _my_ guest book either."

They exchanged a few shots with the men in the car, and were forced to duck down again when retaliatory fire came back at them. "Decker?" Peck theorized.

"Nah, Decker wouldn't do it without the sirens and the bullhorn. Takes the kick out of it for him." More gunfire forced them flat on the floor. Wood splinters flew everywhere; the window shattered, raining glass down on them. "Come _on, _B.A.," Hannibal said under his breath.

Outside, B.A. jumped into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. On the floor in the back of the van, Murdock raised his head cautiously, trying to see what was going on. "You wanna stay alive, fool, you better keep down!" B.A. floored the gas pedal, and the van tore out of the narrow alley that led to the street.

Mike had the escaping vehicle in his sights. "Baracus!"

Perry grabbed his arm and gestured toward the warehouse. "The others are cornered! Let's move in!"

The sedan screeched to a halt fifty feet from the door where Smith and Peck had entered the building. Perry motioned Mike and Arnie around to the back; they got out of the vehicle and ran in a low crouch as the cornered mercenaries fired at them. Both reached the corner of the building and circled behind it without incident. Inside the sedan, Perry and Jeff stayed low.

"We give 'em a minute to get in position," Perry instructed.

"And then there's no way out but _this _way," Jeff finished.

"You got it."

Smith took a turn looking out what was left of the grimy window. He could see the sedan and the two men running from it, but couldn't identify the two still in the car. "Who _are _those clowns?"

Face was too busy reloading his pistol to share in the speculation. "If _they're_ clowns, and _they've_ caught _us_, what does that make _us_?"

"Patience, Face. I think I hear the cavalry coming."

Smith's cavalry, in the person of B.A. Baracus, roared at high speed back through the alley from which he had just emerged, keeping his head as low as possible behind the wheel of the black van. Perry peered over the dashboard of the sedan, trying to identify the source of the noise bearing down on him, and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the massive vehicle approaching… with apparent intent to broadside them.

He and Jeff dove to the floor and covered their heads in anticipation of the crash.

B.A. swerved at the last moment, and spun the van around completely, moving between the sedan and the warehouse door. The big vehicle slowed slightly as it passed; Hannibal and Face took the opportunity to run from the building and leap inside, just as Mike and Arnie raced around the corner of the warehouse to join the confronation.

Perry's colleagues dropped to their knees and began firing, but their bullets caused only surface damage to the fleeing van. It escaped with all of the A-Team safely inside.

Perry slowly extracted himself from beneath the dashboard and got out of the sedan. Mike was on him in a moment. "We blew it, man! You and your element of surprise! Well, we lost 'em! _Surprise_!"

"Will you cool out? We'll have another chance!"

"If it's gonna be anything like the last one, I don't want any part of it!"

Perry's voice dropped; he spoke in the low, practiced tone of the full-time madman. "Don't cross me now, man. Just don't do it."

Mike hesitated. He knew that look, that voice. Perry meant it. He made challenging eye contact for a few seconds, then backed down and looked away. "Now what?"

"Shut up, and let me think."

He started to get back into the sedan, but Arnie stopped him, gesturing toward the right front tire. It was flat, torn apart by gunfire. Perry gave it a vicious kick, and looked after the long-gone van.


	4. Chapter 4

With B.A. at the wheel, the team was out of danger in a matter of seconds. Hannibal puffed thoughtfully on a fresh cigar, pulled from the package of three in his jacket pocket. Templeton Peck, seriously bedraggled after his dive into the rolling van, made an attempt to pull his appearance back together. He hadn't dressed for a commando raid that morning, and it was painfully obvious that his Dior jacket would never be the same. "Well," he said, "now that we've had our adrenalin rush for the day, who _were _those guys?"

"We've got plenty of questions," Smith mused.

"Yeah, and plenty of problems."

"I didn't get a make on 'em, Hannibal," B.A. reported. "All happened too fast."

"I don't like having people we don't know on our tails," Hannibal said. "It's so much more rewarding when it's an old nemesis."

Face probed the long tear in his sleeve. "Don't you go on the jazz now, Hannibal. It's not enough we've got an absent-minded psychotic on our hands. Now we've got the Mystery Hit Men too. This just doesn't seem to be our day."

Hannibal took a puff on his cigar. "Billy."

"Billy who?"

The colonel turned to face Murdock, who hadn't said a word since the shooting had stopped. "What about Billy, Murdock?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Who's Billy?"

"You're not trying," Face snapped. His jacket was a total write-off, and so was his Halston shirt. And from the look of things, it would be a while before they got a job and started making some money so he could replace them.

"Face…" Smith warned. "How about a little support?"

"Oh, come on, Hannibal. I'm only human. I can only take so much. I've managed to give credence to Captain Cab, Rex the Wonder Dog, the Range Rider, and a cast of thousands. What am I supposed to do if he can't even decide who he wants to be? Start making suggestions?"

"I have to admit Murdock's been exasperating at least three times as often as he's been amusing. But this time, I just don't know."

B.A. slowed, and stopped for a red light. "You think Decker's really been messin' with his head, Hannibal?"

"Well, _something _happened to him."

"So help me, Murdock, you better not be givin' us any of your crazy jibber-jabber this time!"

Murdock leaned forward in his seat. "I think I'm being pretty damn understanding about this whole thing, don't you?" he demanded. "I let three strangers stuff me into the back of a van, we narrowly miss getting gunned down by some maniacs with machine guns, I spend hours getting names and places fired at me like buckshot… and then _you _get mad!"

Silence prevailed for several moments. Finally, Hannibal spoke. "That isn't Murdock."

Face shook his head. "Not the Murdock I remember."

Even B.A. was forced into reflection. "No, I guess not."

Murdock sat back. The tension inside the van was almost thick enough to see. "Seems kind of lonely in here without all those multiple personalities we've grown to know and love," Smith commented.

That was something B.A. wasn't quite ready to agree with. "Ain't lonely, just nice and quiet for a change." Something in his voice said that, in spite of his words, he had reservations. Hannibal had no trouble picking up on it, but Murdock didn't hear it. All he noticed was hostility, and that was what he silently sent back to the three of them.

Hannibal gestured to a small side road as they were about to pass it. "Make a left here, B.A."

Baracus glared at him. This was the back road to the airport, and he knew it well. This road was the last thing he'd seen more times than he cared to count. Generally, when he woke up from seeing this particular road, it was to find himself over Central America in the back of a leaky, out-of-control cargo plane with Howling Mad Murdock holding the stick; 'flying the plane' was too broad a statement, especially when said plane was not so much flying as it was plummeting straight down into some desolate mountain pass.

No, B.A. didn't much like this road. He killed the engine. "Ain't leavin' the ground, Hannibal."

"Come on, B.A., have a little patience."

"Ain't leavin' the ground, Hannibal."

"So much for patience." Face's remark angered the already touchy Baracus, and the con man prudently chose to say nothing more for the moment.

Hannibal turned to his driver. "This is just for Murdock's benefit."

"Field trip, Colonel?" Face inquired.

"You might say that."

"Which involves…?" Hannibal had that look on his face again… and Face seldom knew where it was likely to lead them.

"The ten magic fingers of Templeton Peck."

"Which must beg, borrow or steal _what_?"

"Elementary, my dear Faceman."

**00o00**

Less than twenty minutes later, two pilots met at the rental plane counter for an afternoon cup of coffee. "How's that chopper handling?" the taller of the two inquired.

"Think she could use a tune-up," the second man answered. He pocketed a small ring with two keys on it, and added sugar to his cup.

Cue Peck. He entered the office, staggering as if quite drunk, his already-battered jacket lending much to the effect. He turned toward the outside door and called out before it swung shut behind him. "All right, all _right_! I'll _get_ it!" Then he backed away from the door… and also backed into the man holding the coffee cup. Most of the contents spilled all over both of them.

"Hey, watch it, willya?" the pilot snapped as he quickly reached for a roll of paper towels.

"Oh, hey, I'm real sorry, buddy," Face slurred. "Listen, either of you guys know the way to the Santa Monica Freeway? I'm in a lotta trouble with the wife. I told her I remembered the way to her mother's house, and I got us lost, and now she says I did it on purpose. Anybody here help me out?"

"You sure you oughta be drivin', pal?" the tall pilot asked.

"Oh, sure, sure. I'm just fine…"

"Seems like maybe you've had a little too much to drink."

"If you knew my mother-in-law, you'd offer me a double," Face replied.

The two pilots exchanged amused glances. Clearly, here was a man in a jam. "Right," the taller man nodded. "The freeway's about a mile from here. Just keep right on this road until you get to the interchange. There'll be signs all over the place."

"It had to be that easy, huh?" Face sighed. "Oh well, maybe I'll just stop at some friendly little roadside place and sneak another shot… have to get us lost again to do it…"

"Well, good luck."

"If I had any _good _luck, I'd be livin' in a singles joint in Venice Beach. But thanks anyway." Face fumbled with the doorknob before managing to turn it. "Nice talkin' to ya," he called as he stepped back outside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

As soon as he was out of sight of the pilots, Face straightened up and smoothed his hair. From his jacket pocket, he pulled the small keyring, the two keys still dangling from it. The guy hadn't even felt him lift it. Now, if luck was with them, he wouldn't decide he needed his chopper for the rest of the afternoon…

The keys belonged to a shiny blue-and-white helicopter parked on the pad at one end of the landing strip. That was where the A-Team headed, Murdock in tow. "Call it on-the-job training," Hannibal said as they approached the chopper. "You know how to fly one of these."

B.A. scowled. "Fool can't even handle a skateboard without crashin' it."

Confused though he was, that particular word got through to Murdock loud and clear. "_Crashing?_" he echoed.

"Come on," Hannibal said, giving B.A. a stern look to quiet him. "Just get in. See if it feels familiar."

Face opened the door on the pilot's side of the helicopter and motioned Murdock inside. "You really think this could work?"

"You got any other ideas?" Hannibal asked.

"Just get in, Murdock," Face repeated.

When Murdock still hesitated, Hannibal and Face each took one of his arms and pushed him bodily into the cockpit. Once inside, he looked about as at home as a sheep in a birdcage. He touched the stick hesitantly. "This won't go off or anything, will it?"

"I'm beginning to miss the Wonder Dog," Face sighed.

"_I_ ain't," B.A. growled.

Murdock had stopped listening to them; he studied the controls intently, yet without comprehension. He touched various buttons and switches, shifted in his seat, and grasped the stick more firmly. Hannibal began to look hopeful, as did Face, who began to whistle the theme from _The High and the Mighty_.

Even Hannibal's hopeful expression faded when it became more and more obvious that Murdock, try as he might, still had no inkling of how to operate the helicopter. He removed the second cigar from the package in his pocket and lit it. There was one left.

**00o00**

A miniature radar scope blinked in the front seat of the sedan. Perry adjusted a dial; the blinking was suddenly accompanied by a constant beeping that increased in frequency as they drove.

"How we doin'?" Jeff asked.

"They're within a five-mile radius. When we get in closer, we'll be able to pinpoint them." The light on the radar blinked more rapidly. "Soon. Real soon."

**00o00**

"Any more plans, Hannibal Freud?" Face asked.

"This has Decker written all over it."

"Just because Murdock remembers seeing Army uniforms? That's a U.S. Government hospital, you know. He might have seen Douglas MacArthur… as a matter of fact, they're probably _overstocked _with MacArthurs."

Hannibal shook his head. "It had to be Decker. But what actually happened?"

"We can ask Murdock… if we ever see him again."

Hannibal took one last puff on the cigar before putting it out.

**00o00**

Murdock ran his hand along the line of the tail section of the helicopter. Yes, it was a chopper, all right… that much he could attest to. Other than that, it held no special significance he could recall; it might as well have been the Queen Mary. And as far as getting behind the wheel… or the throttle, or whatever it was called when you knew what you were doing… well, that was just plain out of the question.

B.A. stood nearby, watching; Murdock was unaware of his presence until he spoke. "Don't worry 'bout gettin' that thing up in the air. First, you better learn how to bring one _down_ in one piece."

"I can really fly one of these things?"

"So Hannibal say. But if you ask _me_…" His voice trailed off. Murdock was looking straight at him, his brown eyes searching, looking for something… and he wasn't finding it. "Don't stare at me like that, man! Gives me the creeps!"

"I can't believe I wouldn't remember you. I don't know how _anybody _could ever forget seeing _you._"

"_I _can't believe you been on this crazy rap for this long, and Hannibal and Faceman are still buyin' it. Come on, Murdock, we got a job to do. We gotta get on a boat to Malaguay. Stop messin' around."

Murdock gave the tail section of the helicopter a forceful smack with the palm of one hand and stalked away. "How many times do I have to tell you guys? I don't remember you. _Any _of you. What's it going to take to get you to listen to me?"

"Murdock, I ain't got time…"

He whirled around and pinned Baracus with a glare. "You ain't got time? That's great. Just great! You ain't got time, but you've got everything else. You've got people you remember, places you know, things you can do that you know what you're doin' them for. And I'd trade places with you in a minute, man! I got nothin' _but _time!"

The silence held for several seconds, then Murdock turned and walked away again. B.A. looked after him, his expression softening for the first time since the start of this whole business. "Murdock… wait a minute… where you goin'?"

"What difference does it make?"

B.A. put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be okay."

"This coming from the man who was gonna put me in the glove compartment," Murdock remarked with a humorless grin.

"I mean it. You're gonna be all right."

"How do you know?"

"You gotta be," the big man said simply. "Because I'd miss you."

"You would?"

"Yeah."

He considered that for a moment. "I guess I'd probably miss you too."

B.A.'s face became less menacing. It was clear now, even to him. Not even Murdock was capable of that kind of put-on. It had to be for real… and if it was for real, then it was serious. He was about to say something more, but Murdock shrugged and turned his attention back to the helicopter.

Sudden gunfire spurred the big mercenary into action, and he pulled Murdock to ground. The shots had come from inside the hangar; it was difficult to determine exactly where. "Come on!" he yelled, rising to a low crouch. The two men began a fast, low run toward the small hangar where they had last seem Smith and Peck.

The other members of the A-Team crouched behind some crates beside the hangar, handguns out and returning fire. "This is getting to be an annoying habit," Face remarked. He fired a couple of rounds blindly. "It might be better if we at least knew who was out there."

"You go right out and introduce yourself, Face," Hannibal told him. "I can contain my curiosity." He carefully raised his head, ducking down again when a bullet tore a chunk out of the crate of machine parts next to his head. "They've got us all the way around, whoever they are."

B.A. and Murdock joined them. "Not _all_," B.A. corrected. "Not _yet_."

"We're cut off from the van. We may have to run for it."

Another fusillade of gunfire drilled the hangar wall behind them. "I think I'll wait for your next idea, if you don't mind," Face told him.

B.A. aimed his own weapon and fired. "Man, who _are _those guys?"

**00o00**

A few hundred feet away, Perry lurked with a .45 in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. He fired a shot, then spoke into the radio. "Mike, what can you see?"

"We got 'em in a corner. It's just a matter of time before they run outta ammo."

Mike lay flat on the roof of a nearby hangar, his automatic poised to fire. He'd come close; he'd almost winged Smith. Now, he patiently awaited his next opportunity. At this point, it was a real cat-and-mouse operation. There was nothing to do but wait. The A-Team couldn't stay under cover forever.

He sighted through the finder of the automatic, drew a bead on the van that sat empty in the parking lot, then moved to train the crosshairs on the stack of crates concealing his opponents. Yeah, just a matter of time.

Jeff was behind the tail section of a small plane. The radio on his belt crackled, and he heard Perry call his name. "Position," he replied.

Arnie flattened himself against a tree near the airport fence. "Check," he replied to Perry's voice calling him.

"Nobody moves in until I give the word," the disembodied voice reminded them. There would be no grandstanding, no hotdogging. Everything would go exactly as he'd designed it, and that had to be clearly understood. He had lost the A-Team once. He wouldn't lose them again.


	5. Chapter 5

B.A. crept slowly around the corner of the hangar. About twenty paces ahead, he spotted the barrel of an automatic sticking out from behind a tree. He crouched as low as he could, and backed up.

Behind their crates, the others occasionally fired a shot or two to keep their pursuers interested… and to keep _them _firing, in order to track their positions as well as they could. B.A. rejoined them, reloading his gun as he spoke. "I count three of 'em, Hannibal. One up high, two on the ground."

Hannibal nodded. "What's the best way out?"

"Ain't no best way. Ain't no _good _way. They got all the aces."

"What kind of recon is that?" Face demanded.

"Any I.D.?" Hannibal asked.

"Nope. Couldn't get close enough."

More incoming fire. The four men ducked as one. "Well, gentlemen," Hannibal said, "I'm entertaining any and all suggestions on how to get out of here alive."

"I hate it when a plan falls apart…" Face groaned.

Hannibal reached into his pocket and withdrew his last cigar, setting his gun down to light it. Lucky it was a good smoke… there was a chance it would be his last one. Ever. Face stared in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"I think better when I'm smoking," Hannibal answered. "Like B.A. concentrates better when he's throttling someone." He bit off the end of the cigar and reached for a light.

The end of the cigar stayed lit for only a couple of seconds, then went out. Hannibal frowned, lit another match, and tried again. The flame wouldn't even catch. "What _is _this?"

"Maybe the Surgeon General's new way of getting you to kick the habit," Face suggested.

Hannibal studied the end of the cigar, then broke it in two and looked carefully at the inside. As the others looked on, he extracted a micro-transmitter unit and held it up between two fingers. It was smaller than a kernel of corn. "Or the answer to most of our questions."

B.A. took the device and examined it. "Homing unit, Hannibal. Whoever's got the pick-up has had our position ever since you got this."

"What do you mean, _whoever_?" Face returned more gunfire. "I'll lay odds our friends out there taking pot shots at us know a little something about this."

"Our good friend Mr. Perry planted these on me, Face. And I suppose we're very lucky we never got to Malaguay with him."

"Luck's a relative term, Colonel. We can get just as killed right here in L.A."

B.A. crushed the transmitter between his fingers and flung it aside. More incoming fire ate away at the edges of the crates, and they all ducked lower. Face turned to Hannibal. "_Well_?"

"I'm working on it."

**00o00**

Mike let the rope drop as soon as he had his end anchored. The coil cascaded down the side of the hangar, dropping to within five feet of the concrete runway. He shouldered his automatic, swung his legs over the side, and grasped the rope like a trained mountaineer, then rappelled down with all the grace of a large, dangerous spider descending from its web.

When he reached the bottom, he jumped the remaining distance to the ground, then readied his gun again and ran, quickly and silently, to the cover of the building.

**00o00**

Hannibal gazed up at the roof. "We need a better angle. They can see _us_, but we can't get a bead on them." He waited for a pause in the shooting, then motioned for B.A. to follow him. "Cover us, Face."

The opposing fire stopped momentarily, and they had a clear run to shelter before it started up again. When it did, Face ducked down beside Murdock. "Keep down," he instructed.

Murdock nodded. "Don't worry. I can remember _that_."

Hannibal and B.A. made their way along the wall of the adjoining hangar. The big man spotted Mike's rope and gestured to the colonel, who nodded and holstered his pistol. He began to climb, with B.A. on the ground to cover him.

When Hannibal reached the top, he peered over the edge of the roof to see if they had any company. When he saw the coast was clear, he lifted himself over the edge and motioned to B.A. to follow him.

"I make two of 'em," he said when B.A. joined him. "One's just beyond that plane, and there's another in that recess."

"The one behind that tree makes three."

"Three automatics against three handguns."

"And Murdock."

Hannibal frowned. "Murdock's a liability."

"Might be able to make the gate," B.A. said. "With a good diversion, and a little good luck."

"Considering the last few hours, I wouldn't make any plans based on good luck." Hannibal motioned to the right. "Secure our perimeter."

The big mercenary took off in the indicated direction. The colonel kept his eyes peeled for any further enemy activity.

**00o00**

Face slowly crept to the edge of the pile of crates and peered around it. When he saw nothing except for run-of-the-mill airport flora and fauna, and attracted no hostile activity, he turned back to report to Murdock. Before he could say anything, they were both surprised by gunfire that suddenly drilled into the crates, this time from the rear.

They were unprotected from that angle. Both made a run for it.

The only available shelter was the nearby helicopter, and it wasn't much. They ducked down behind it anyway. But it was a dead end; there was nowhere else to go, and it wouldn't be long before they were attacked from behind again. "I have one idea," Face said after a moment. "And I hate it."

"Give it to me anyway," Murdock invited.

The con man cast his gaze skyward, then toward the helicopter, then finally back at Murdock… who didn't have to know sign language to figure it out. "Are you _nuts_?"

"Probably. Believe me, I don't like it any better than you do, but…"

"I _can't… _"

A bullet pierced the bubble surrounding the cockpit; time was up. Face opened the door and climbed in, pulling an unwilling Murdock behind him. Once inside, he looked at his companion expectantly, hoping for a miracle. He didn't know why he expected one; perhaps the law of averages… they had to be overdue for something to go right, didn't they?

But the look on Murdock's face told him the miracle had passed them by. Another bullet whistled uncomfortably close to his ear. "Murdock…?"

"I don't even know how to turn it _on_!"

Desperate times call for equally desperate measures. Face grabbed for the booklet that rested on the instrument panel and tossed it into Murdock's lap. "Here's the manual."

"This ain't the Christian Science Readin' Room! We don't got time for manuals!"

Another round of fire passed too close to their heads, and Murdock flipped the book open, beginning to read furiously. In a few seconds he nodded, folded his hands, and closed his eyes in a hasty prayer… a gesture the con man found somewhat less than reassuring. Then he turned the key in the ignition.

To their mutual amazement, the rotor started to turn. As Face watched, becoming more and more assured by the moment, Murdock pulled back on the stick and twisted the throttle. The helicopter rocked on its skids, then actually lifted up off the ground. "Atta boy, Murdock!"

But his elation was short-lived. Only twenty feet above the runway, the chopper began to pitch sharply, and he found himself holding on for dear life. "What's the matter?"

"You said you wanted it up," Murdock reminded him. "Well… it's _up!_"

Face grabbed for the manual again, and desperately opened to the index. "_E_…" he muttered, flipping pages rapidly. "Emergency…" If there were directions for getting the thing up, it followed that there must be some for putting the thing back _down_. And down was looking better and better…

Murdock fought to maintain stability, but his awkward efforts only resulting in overcontrolling and more pitching. They were losing altitude almost as quickly as they were losing their composure. Peck flipped pages like a madman. "_C_… _Crash_…!"

Out of control, the helicopter careened dangerously close to the hangar. The con man tossed the manual over his shoulder and closed his eyes, steeling himself for the imminent crash.

One of the skids clipped the wall, shaking the chopper hard as it sheared off. The two men were thrown forward in their seats. Face fervently wished he could recall even a few stanzas of the Hail Mary.

Murdock landed back in his seat, his forehead throbbing from its sudden and violent introduction to the plexiglass bubble. Suddenly he realized how close they were to the building. He grabbed the controls and maneuvered the chopper back into safe air space, then held it at a steady hover.

Face opened his eyes when it seemed to be too long past the anticipated crash time, and found his companion holding the controls with his usual prowess. "We're still alive…?" he ventured.

The pilot nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. I can still hear us." He tipped a glance toward the other man and raised an eyebrow. "Now wouldn't be the best time to ask how we got up here, would it, Face?"

Face stared at him. "Murdock?"

"Hey, do you know we hit that building? I could have my pilot's license revoked… but I ain't had one since 1972. Does that mean they can't gimme a ticket?"

"Murdock!" If Face hadn't been frozen in his seat, he would have hugged him. "You remember!"

Murdock let out a low whistle. "Man, am _I _ever gonna have a story for my next group-therapy session."

Next important question. "Do you think you can really fly this thing?"

"Can a fish fly? Can a bird swim? Can…"

"Can _you _be _serious?_" Face retorted. "Let's go! Hannibal and B.A. are gonna need some help."

"You got it, Faceguy." Murdock banked the aircraft skillfully and began a smooth forward flight.

Face allowed his muscles to relax slightly. They weren't safe yet, but they were safer now than they had been a minute ago… he thought. _Maybe we could rig up some kind of On/Off switch, _he mused, holding onto the edge of his seat as Murdock banked into another tight turn.

**00o00**

Hannibal and B.A. returned Mike's fire. He was on the roof of the hangar directly opposite them, and seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of ammunition. That was not true of the A-Team. In reply to an unspoken question, B.A. checked his belt. "Ten rounds each," he said. "That's it."

Perry slung his automatic over one shoulder and reached up to grab the bottom rung of a ladder; it ended just below a trapdoor onto the roof itself. He climbed swiftly and silently.

The trapdoor opened without a sound, and Perry found himself on the hangar roof directly behind Smith and Baracus, who were concentrating on Mike. He climbed out and stationed himself alongside an antenna dish.

Hannibal was less than satisfied with his companion's accounting. "That's not even enough to…"

He broke off as shots came from behind them. They rolled in opposite directions, out of the line of fire, ducked behind the meager cover of two more antenna dishes, then returned fire.

The colonel heard his last bullet leave his gun. "We sure could use a little of that good luck right about now."

Perry raised his rifle again. From behind, a helicopter suddenly rose above the rooftop, and one of its occupants opened fire. The bounty hunter dove for better cover.

Face motioned to Murdock to bring them in closer; the pilot nodded, and immediately complied. They buzzed Mike on the adjoining roof, sending him scrambling.

Mike ran like crazy. This was a contingency they hadn't planned on; therefore, he didn't know how to handle it. Murdock let out a spirited cowboy yell and swooped down close enough to make him drop and cover his head. When he went down, his gun skidded across the roof and over the side. Realizing he was no longer armed, he put his hands above his head and kept them there.

Face looked down and gave him a cheery wave. "One down, three to go," he remarked.

Murdock nodded and pulled on the throttle. The chopper gained altitude rapidly. "Let's go for the spare."

Jeff and Arnie stood by the crates Face and Murdock had formerly used for cover. When the helicopter buzzed overhead, they fired on it, but a few answering rounds from above convinced them that they were on the losing side. They dropped their weapons and raised their hands.

"Now, that was certainly agreeable of them," Face nodded.

"You'd think we were holdin' a gun on 'em," Murdock grinned.

Perry opened fire as the chopper passed not too far above his head. Smith took advantage of the distraction… one of Murdock's best… and tackled him, bringing him down hard and wrestling his weapon from his hands. Perry broke away, and they both got to their feet.

From the bounty hunter's practiced stance, Hannibal knew he wasn't fooling around; he was obviously an expert hand-to-hand fighter. He straightened slowly, realizing Perry was allowing him time. But instead of extending his hands, he merely grinned at his opponent.

Perry took one step towards him… and was quickly taken out by B.A. who had come up behind him. He hit the ground, moved once, then declined to get up for more. "Nice, B.A.," Hannibal nodded.

The helicopter passed overhead again, this time flying backwards. Face flashed them a thumbs-up, then grabbed for a handhold as Murdock banked sharply. B.A. managed a grin.

Hannibal matched it. "I love it when a plan comes together."

**00o00**

B.A. dropped the hood of the van and put the wrench back into his tool box. Inside, with the door open, Hannibal and Face sat with Murdock, who was deeply engrossed in a comic book. "What's the story, B.A.?" Hannibal asked.

"Took a nick in the radiator, is all. Be just fine now."

Murdock rolled up the comic and stuck it in his back pocket. "Ain't nothin' my man don't know 'bout cars."

"Wish I knew how to shut you up!" B.A. growled.

Face made a sweeping gesture at the pair of them. "See, Hannibal? Everything's back to normal."

"I have to admit, I was a little worried for a while," Hannibal said.

"Worried? About Murdock? Hannibal, the swallows always return to Capistrano… and Murdock always returns to B.A."

Murdock cranked up the volume on the radio, and B.A. reached over to turn it off completely. A news broadcast had just started; it caught Smith's attention. "… the Army has declined to comment on the reasons for Colonel Decker's transfer…"

He held up a hand. "Wait a minute, B.A." The big man left the controls as they were, and the four of them listened intently.

"… the first time in over thirty years that the military base on Hale Island in the South Pacific has housed American personnel. Colonel Decker is to supervise the removal of unexploded depth charges from nearby waters; the assignment is expected to last an indefinite period of time. The colonel has recently been tracking the infamous A-Team. The Army expects his new assignment to be a refreshing change of pace for him. On the national scene…"

The next lead-in was drowned out by laughter. "Refreshing change of pace…" Hannibal echoed. "Just Decker and a couple thousand hermit crabs."

"A bit of poetic justice?" Face asked.

B.A. switched off the radio. "Good riddance is what I say. Now, maybe we can get that sucker off our backs for a while."

"Oh, Decker'll be back," Hannibal assured him. "And if I know Decker, he'll be twice as mad as he was when he shipped out."

Murdock set his jaw. "Make a pincushion outta me, will he? I hope he meets an electric eel… up close and personal."

"How do you feel?" Hannibal asked him.

"Crystal clear, Colonel. I remember everything… except what I told Decker while I was under."

"Judging from his new assignment, I'd say the only secrets you spilled were Captain Marvel's. I don't think we have to worry about him trying _that _again. Which reminds me, we'd better get you back to your cozy little room before they start to miss you too much."

"Don't you worry 'bout me. I can handle 'em."

"Like you handled 'em before?" B.A. challenged. "And we had to come get you outta that mess you got yourself into."

"That doesn't count! I wasn't ready!"

Face turned to Hannibal. "Isn't it nice to have things back the way they were?"

"Kind of gives you a warm feeling inside, doesn't it?" Hannibal took a cigar out of his pocket and started to light it, then seeing the look on Peck's face, inspected both ends, held it up to his ear, and listened. "It's okay. Just F.M. stations on this one." He touched a burning match to the end and took his first puff while the others contined to bicker.

"You missed me, didn't you?" Murdock teased.

"Did not," B.A. said gruffly.

"Did too."

"Did _not_!"

Murdock stuck out his tongue at the big man, who grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him forward, making a fist with his free hand. "Ain't gonna miss you with _this_!"

Hannibal and Face decided that things had gone far enough. They both stepped forward, and each took one of Baracus' massive arms. "Lemme go! Gonna show this sucker how I don't miss him!"

Murdock bolted. B.A. shook the others loose and ran after him.

Hannibal puffed his cigar. "Here we go again."

THE END

A/N: Thanks to all for reading, and special thanks to those who commented. This is a story I wrote quite a while ago and I decided to post it in the hopes that some of you would enjoy it... looks like several of you did!


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